


down in lisbon (i'll wait for you)

by cloudburst



Category: A escondidas | Hidden Away (2014)
Genre: M/M, i hope i did this shit right, this is the first work for this movie lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6576547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Sometimes, he thinks they'd meet in Portugal.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	down in lisbon (i'll wait for you)

**Author's Note:**

> drabble af

Sometimes, he thinks they'd meet in Portugal—sun heavy, bodies light. They would run to each other above the earth, all amid the commotion of Lisbon, hearts hammering louder than perpetual footfalls. They would meet in Portugal; they would be happy. 

But he—Rafa—is still in Spain, with the heavy weight of a necklace meant as one, stretched to the burden of two. Sometimes it is too much for him to bear. 

It doesn't matter, though. Because they would kiss in Portugal, with eyes wide only to fall shut tight, with bodies humming, drumming, and pulling to be close. They would be one in Portugal—burden of first love no more, if only to return the separated piece meant to _stay together._ Stay together—as they had been meant to.

But Rafa knows it is more than that, as he leans back in his chair—pencil falling to the desk. 

They may be young, but they know truth of feeling, or so Rafa had thought. Now, he thinks the truth is much worse; he wishes he could find a time before boys with dark eyes and easy smiles—one boy who held him captive, holds him captive. 

He thinks home a prison, as the roots of Spanish soil pull him closer to hell. 

The arms of Lisbon would embrace them—swallow them whole as they disappeared from sight. They'd walk along the street, with shoulders touching and eyes upward to the sky—a tribute to a god they'd long since abandoned in pursuit of each other. Lisbon would embrace, as they would each other. 

Rafa's fingers tug at the weight around his neck—needs to remember it exists. If he forgets he won't forgive.

_I will find you._

It's implausible, laughable even, that they'll meet again—a pipe dream, not even believed by Rafa himself.

They'd breathe life into their deadened bodies in Lisbon, and mend broken bones with gentle touch and plenty of time. Ibra would laugh and say, _that's because it's healing._

Rafa sits in his room. 

This is not Portugal—nor is it a fairytale. The necklace stays, but his eyes fall downward. 

This is not Lisbon—nor is it his feeling of redemption. His mind stays, but his love is long gone.

* * *

_Yet the streets of Lisbon are alive, and Ibra has never smiled wider._

_Maybe fairytales exist in the end._


End file.
